Jill Steeples - Desperately Seeking Heaven

Probably once he’d had a rallying cup of tea, gathered his thoughts a little, I’d be able to get more sense out of him, but for the time being he wasn’t the most forthcoming of house guests.

‘I think I might just close my eyes for a moment.’ He put down his empty mug on the wicker coffee table and settled back in his seat, stretching his arms above his head. ‘Is that OK?’

‘Yes, you go ahead. I’ve got plenty to be getting on with here. Just give me a shout if you need anything.’

A little thrill of excitement ran through me. Was Jimmy Mack really sitting on my sofa? Or was I part of some elaborate TV prank? He looked real enough to me. As his eyes flickered shut, I studied his familiar features more closely. The contours of his face, the strong turn of his jaw, the wide lips smiling even in rest; it was like looking at a member of my family. Weirdly, it seemed perfectly natural that he should be sitting there.

But then again…

What if something happened to him?

A ripple of unease rose in my throat. What if he fell into some sort of delayed coma? Or contracted hypothermia, ending up dead in my living room? That would take some explaining. Before I’d even had chance to grab a couple of autographs off him as well. Desperation bubbled up in me. Celebrity or not, I had to get him out of my flat pdq so that the responsibility of looking after the nation’s favourite presenter could be offloaded onto someone else.

For the moment though, he wasn’t going anywhere. He looked right at home on my squidgy sofa, his head resting on his arm. I supposed it was only natural he’d want to sleep after the ordeal he’d been through. It seemed a shame to wake him so instead I wandered into the kitchen, placing the dirty cups into the dishwasher. I threw some washing into the washing machine. Skimmed the pile of paperwork waiting patiently on the side. Checked my emails. Then I read my horoscope in the local newspaper.

“A chance encounter could bring unexpected results. Keep an open mind and go with the flow, you never know where it might lead you!”

Ha, I laughed out loud. There wasn’t much else I could do in the circumstances!

No, all I could do was wait. I drummed my fingertips on the worktop, frequently gazing over at my guest looking for any signs of life. And then I waited some more.

At eight o’clock with no sign of my visitor rousing, I made another cup of tea and a lot more noise in the process. I flung open cupboard doors, banged mugs down on the surfaces and hummed loudly. It was no good; a more direct approach was required.

‘Jimmy?’ I leant over him, whispering in his ear. A musky earthy scent reached my nostrils. ‘Jimmy,’ I said, gently shaking his shoulder, ‘would you like another cup of tea?’

He murmured something unintelligible which, after that amount of time, was an almighty relief I have to say.

‘Good,’ I said, sharply. ‘Then perhaps you’d like something to eat. Might make you feel a bit better.’ Then perhaps you’ll vacate my sofa and leave me alone to my weekend of domestic bliss, I kept to myself. ‘I’ll put the telly on, shall I? We can catch the news.’

I zapped the remote at the telly, popped into the kitchen to fetch the mugs of tea and came back into the living room. That’s when I received the third and most spectacularly freaky shock of the day. So much so that I screamed, dropping the mugs to the floor, the contents spraying my cream leather sofa and gardenia walls. That woke him, once and for all.

‘Jesus Christ! What is it?’ He leapt up from the sofa, only just escaping the spouting hot liquid, and looked at me accusingly.

‘You. It’s you.’ I looked from him to the screen. ‘On the telly.’ I pointed at the box in the corner of the room for good measure just in case he had any doubt as to what I was freaking out about.

We were standing a hair’s breath away from each other and I felt a surge of emotion rise within me, the air in the room suddenly electrified.

‘You!’ I repeated, my mouth gaping open like a befuddled goldfish.

‘Oh… yes,’ he said, having the grace to look a little sheepish, ‘perhaps I should have mentioned it.’

I sank down onto the sofa in the place recently vacated by Jimmy, my head falling into my hands. Maybe there’d been some kind of mistake.

‘You’re… you’re…’ I gulped, no it couldn’t be. ‘You’re… dead?’ I faltered, looking up into his eyes, which seemed so much greyer and deeper than before.

He shrugged, an apologetic smile forming on lips.

‘Yep, I am.’

No mistake then.

The whole country was in mourning following the tragic death of one of the country’s most well-known and well-loved celebrities in a freak accident. Grim-faced newsreaders repeated the news of the untimely demise of Mr Nice-Guy raking over the details of his last hours to find answers to the most unfathomable question. How exactly had Jimmy Mack died? Why had it happened? What private demons had driven Jimmy Mack to an early grave?

In the surreal surroundings of my flat which had taken on an other-worldly quality with the presence of Jimmy lounging on my sofa, the television confirmed to me what I really didn’t want to believe. I was now wrapped up under the duvet, having nabbed it back from Jimmy considering my need to be much greater than his. Hardly daring to surface, only my eyes peeped over the top of the cover at the screen, as tears rolled down my cheeks for the dead man standing beside me.

‘Oh, don’t cry!’ he said, pacing up and down and flapping his arms ineffectively.

‘Don’t cry? Are you serious?’ I jumped up from the sofa and followed him step for step across the carpet. ‘You are… a hugely famous TV star and you’re standing in my living room and if that wasn’t mind-blowing enough… you’re also… you’re also dead! How do you expect me to react?’

‘Yeah, well if it’s any consolation, it’s pretty weird for me too. Do you think I wanted to end up here? I should be on my way to the Heavenly Hilton or wherever it is you’re supposed to go, escorted by a couple of blonde angels.’

‘Oh God!’ I cried, attempting to hurl the duvet across the room, but only managing to tangle it between my legs. ‘Let’s just get this clear,’ I added, slowing my breathing, ‘you are actually… a ghost, then?’

‘Well, it looks that way.’ He actually laughed. As if this were a laughing matter. He glanced down at his moleskin trousers, the pale blue chambray shirt; his sleeves rolled to his elbows, with not even the tiniest speck of blood in sight. He looked real enough to me, solid, living, eminently touchable.

‘Oh, no, no, no. I just can’t get my head around this at all.’

I grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the table and blew my nose noisily, looking at Jimmy accusingly. What the hell were we supposed to do now? Who should I call? The police, the doctor, an undertaker?

I took a deep breath.

‘So, um, tell me. H-how did it happen then? The accident?’

‘Well, that’s the funny thing, I don’t really know. It all happened so quickly. I was on my way to my parents’ place in Mettlesham. It’s their ruby wedding anniversary this weekend and I was supposed to be taking them out to dinner tonight to celebrate.’ He screwed up his mouth, looking wistful. ‘I left the studio early afternoon and as it was such a beautiful day I decided to take the back roads instead of using the motorway.’ He paused as if reliving those last few moments. ‘I came round the bend and then, well, the steering just flew out of my hands. There was nothing I could do. The car flipped over and over. I didn’t think it was going to stop. And then my head hit the steering wheel or the dashboard, I can’t remember which. And that was it. Game over.’